Sinful Sunday: Submission is simple

Still in the dining room, over that enormous table. 

Marked, sore, knowing she is not to get up. That she must wait for whatever is to happen to her to happen. 

She makes no choices, except to endure and obey. Submission can be so simple.

 

Note

It’s the light. And in this case the framing. Such a lovely place. And a lovely girl.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 140: Raylene’s pain does not matter

Raylene looked at the bed. While her freshly-thrashed arse burned, she didn’t want anything to touch her bottom, not even the air. So a simple order like, “Bed,” presented her with challenges she didn’t know what to do with.

I kissed her. “I said ‘bed’, Raylene darling. Yes, you’ve had your ass caned. Looks nice and sore, too. Now you’re going to get your ass into bed.”

She grimaced. “If you don’t mind, Master, I think I’d prefer to stand for the next couple of years.”

I held her to me, her head pressed loving and trusting against my chest.

And I reached down and gave her ass an open-palmed spank, as hard as I could. Raylene cried out in pain and some indignation. If I wasn’t going to feel sorry for her under those circumstances, then … when?

“Darling, you’ve got a Master. What does that make you?”

“A slave, a slavegirl of some sort?”

“Yes. We won’t say so too often, but yes, that’s exactly what it makes you.” I wasn’t sure that was true. But in the moment, sometimes I just say what I think will be hot.

“You’re property. I own you. I mentioned I’m falling in love with you, and I’ll look after you. But you don’t choose what you do, not anymore. Not once I’ve told you what to do.” 

Raylene said nothing. She put her arms around me and let her breasts weigh on my chest. She clung to me like a jasmine. 

“So you’re worried that the sheets are going to hurt your poor little ass, right?”

She looked at me, big-eyed. “Well, I can’t think of any way of being in bed where the sheets won’t hurt me. Even if I lie flat on my tummy.”

“Ok. Now, guess something. Does it matter, even a tiny bit, if the bed hurts your ass?”

“Oh.” That was a new thought. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

“That’s right. You just got a hard lesson in behaviour. It’ll go on hurting a lot for an hour or two, I expect. But it’s over. And I don’t care that your ass still hurts. Understand that. You having a sore backside: it’ll happen to you whenever I see fit, and it does not matter if it hurts. Your pain does not matter. Not during. Not afterwards.”

Raylene had listened to this open-mouthed. She didn’t disagree. These were just things that hadn’t occurred to her before. “Oh. Ok.”

“So, get onto the bed. I’d going to fuck you. I need to fuck you. I think you need to be fucked. As if what you need matters.”

She looked solemn. Then nodded. “No, of course that wouldn’t matter.”

I kissed her. I suppose I don’t cane for irony. “Get up on the bed. Hands and knees. Get your ass up, and keep it up.”

“Yes, master.” And she scrambled up onto the bed, pulling the top sheet and blankets aside, and posing like a cat needing fucking.

A cat with the yummiest, reddest, striped ass in the universe. She looked so beautiful.

“Good girl. I’m going to fuck you, pressed against that nice hot ass. I’m going to enjoy your heat. And I’m going to hurt you while I fuck you. What do you know about that?”

Raylene arched her back, presenting herself as spectacularly as she could. “I know now that it doesn’t matter if it hurts, Master.”

“Good girl. I knew you’re a clever girl.” And I took my clothes off and climbed up onto the bed with her, wanting her more desperately than I was going to tell her, and put my hands on her hips.

Wicked Wednesday: The revised virgin (Maddie’s story)

I went to a school like this one [Maddie said], so there was very strict discipline. And I was a bit wild as a girl. 

I used to truant a lot. Bunk off. Wag. Play hookey. Sluff off. I’d go into town, and hang around in my uniform, perching on things, and watching men trying not to look at my legs. Total strangers. I thought they were creeps, and I felt it was kind of hot. My body was changing. Well, it had mostly changed, but I hadn’t caught up with it yet.

Anyway, my teacher caught me. She grabbed me, took me back to school in her car, then strapped me in front of the whole class. Made me bend over, right over. She let me keep my panties up, but she made me hold my skirt up  so it was over my waist.

And she got out the leather strap. Oooh, she went hard on my bottom. Hard, sir. Wow.

But it didn’t hurt, not like I thought it would. It felt … I didn’t know then. but it felt good and it really unsettled me. After she’d given me, I don’t know, maybe thirty or forty strokes, she was red-faced. Much more than the exertion would explain. Afterwards she made me stand up front, facing the class.

The girls looked at me kind of coldly. Like I’d let them down. Or they were jealous. Because none of the boys would meet my eye, but I knew there wasn’t a cock in that room that wasn’t hard. For me. I don’t know how I knew that, but I knew it.

It was probably the first time I knew something about sex. I mean, knew it for myself, not from books. Maybe it was from the smell.

Male arousal. Mmm. [Maddie kissed my armpit.]

So while I was bending over, getting that strap across my panties, I was really the one in control.

If I wanted that feeling, and all the boys wanting me, I only had to be cheeky to that poor, silly teacher. She’d make me come up and bend over, and by the time she got the strap out from her desk drawer I’d be flowing.

I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t want her. I suppose I only learned to like girls later. But I wanted to be taken. I wanted to be filled. Didn’t really know what with, but I wanted it so badly. 

I’d go into the toilets the first break after the strapping, every time, and get myself off. God, it never took long. 

Anyway, she eventually gave up. The next time I was cheeky to her, she wrote a long note for me to give to the headmaster. I thought that’d be much the same: a bit painful, a bit sexy.

So when class was over I ran straight to the headmaster’s office. Then I hitched my skirt as high as I could, and knocked on his door. 

[Maddie’s story to be continued next week!]

 

E[lust] 93: Pink glow

Elust 93

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Photo courtesy of Aurora Glory

Welcome to Elust 93

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #94 Start with the rules, come back May 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

A dress to die for

Pushing Past

Necessary.

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Kink lite, Kink life
Disturbance

 

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

The Contract

 

Erotic Fiction

The Contract
Speaking Truth to a Submissive Heart
Thunder
Subjugate U

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Jerking off to be banned under Texas bill
That Time Steve Bannon Destroyed Me
How to program a sex robot

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Effortless Connections & Harmonious Energy
Cialis
Playlist…

Poetry

A Love Affair, From A to Z: “A” – Always
-07.04.17_02:43-
Scouting: A Lusty Limericks

Erotic Non-Fiction

Conflict(ed) part 2
It’s All About The Feet
TEASE
Oral Birthday Fun ~ The Glorious Sixty-Ninth!
I Will Do…
The subtle threesome

Events

Eroticon 2017 – I Herd U Lieks It

Body Talk and Sexual Health

photo shoots past and future
Elust 88

Sinful Sunday: the castle and the cane

Time slowed almost to a stop. The cane landed, branding its line of pain and fire across her body. She would absorb it. Eons later the cane would land again.

Perhaps time was all submission and fire,. Perhaps this never would end.

 

Note:

Still in the dining room of the castle. The light: wood and leather. And girl. And bamboo. 

 

“You should be stronger than me”

I’ve been thinking about this Amy Winehouse song for a while now. It’s an odd song. 

In places it sounds like a frustrated submissive telling her dom to lift his game and take over, stepping up to his role. 

Bdsm si! El patriarcado non!

In other places (more often, to be honest) it sounds more like a woman who’s completely internalised patriarchy and sexism. As such she expects a man, any man in any relationship, to take charge. Because that’s the only way it’s right for men to be.

Not because the two of them agreed for it to be that way, maybe after a discussion in which the possibility of other power balances and imbalances was at least recognised. 

Because her man doesn’t tell her what to do and is emotionally open, she’s uncomfortable. She accuses him of being a “lady boy” and asks him if he’s gay.  

Sometimes it sounds like a bdsm song to me: “Dominate me, Henry” . Other times she sounds like those mad, angry Christians who complain that boys are taught to be softies, and go apeshit when gays and intergender people are treated as anything except punching bags. 

In the video, the problem is that the guy drinks and falls over a lot. It completely misses the point of the song. It’s not about drinking problems, it’s about the man and woman having completely different ideas about their roles.

Still, if you were directing a video with Amy W in it, I can see how “drinking and falling down” might have occurred to you as a theme. 

Anyway, I still think the song is hot. Not for the best reasons, but there it is. 

Wicked Wednesday: Maddie’s virginity

We lay together, Maddie and I, naked on the spare sickroom mattress, partly on blankets and pillows. Maddie had been sleeping but she woke again. She’d rose on one elbow, to kiss me and look down at my cock. Maddie did, after all, enjoy fellatio.

But I kissed her, and kept her head level with mine. “You gave me a lot of advice about Jennifer.”

Maddie smiled, reminiscently. “Yes. Was it good advice?”

“It was very good advice. She wants to give herself to me.”

Maddie licked my right nipple, then looked up at me. “First fuck for Jennifer.”

“Well, yes. But I mean, she really wants to give herself to me.”

“You’ll look after her, won’t you?”

“Yes. I couldn’t not. She’s like a flower. A precious orchid. But … when you were telling me … things, I had the impression you were telling me about your own virginity. You didn’t want what happened to you to happen to Jennifer.”

“All advice is autobiography, they say.”

“So it is. So… what did happen to you?”

Maddie kissed me again, and rolled onto her back, head on a pillow, hands behind her head. “Well, memories change. But this is what I recollect.” She coughed, as if about to begin a recitation at a school concert. “My virginity: loss of. The story.”

 

Sinful Sunday: The magic words

A naked girl bends over a chair. Looking at her lover’s belt. 

But there’s something else needed, to start things happening. Terrible things, wonderful things, out of her control.

Magic words are needed, and she speaks them: “Yes, Sir.”

 

Note:

The dining room in the castle. I love the woody light. The magic words are nice, woody words. 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 139: The subtle threesome

Note: 

The last episode of this story was posted back in February, here. It’s very forgivable if you’ve forgotten, or never knew, that there is such a story. 

“Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive” is the click-baity but entirely accurate title of the story of something that happened relatively early in my bdsm career. I’d been interviewing Raylene in her kitchen about her time with a neo-Nazi gang, which she’d joined to annoy her mother, at a bad time in her life. But then we discovered that she was submissive and I was a dom, and that we fancied each other. Things happened very quickly from there, though I’ve been telling it excruciatingly slowly.

When we left Raylene, she was being caned in front of witnesses. The witnesses were Dorabella, her half sister, and Lynette, who’d been trying to get Dorabella into bed.

By now, Lynette had switched her sexual ambition to Raylene and, to my surprise, me. But although we hadn’t liked each other much when we met yesterday, we’d exchanged breath, our tongues had touched the other’s teeth, and we’d fondled each other’s genitals: through my clothes in her case, but fingertips to soft wet skin in my case.

The attraction was real, and starting to feel urgent. So we’d interrupted Raylene’s caning to take a kissing break. To Raylene’s disbelief.

Now read on. 

The subtle threesome

Raylene said, again, “Master?” 

I could see her point. Generally, if you’re getting caned in front of witnesses, you should expect to be the centre of attention. But I’d shown Lynette that being humiliated was one of Raylene’s most favourite, hottest things. She’d caught on quickly, and she’d found that humbling Raylene made her feel wicked. She was starting to enjoy feeling wicked. All this added a pleasantly perverse edge to our kisses. 

I slid my hands down to hold Lynette’s bare ass under her skirt, Lynette made a little “ah” sound, and straightened her back. She had a sensitive little arse: that was worth remembering. She explored my back under my shirt. Doing anything except pulling each other down to the floor and fucking then and there would clearly be ridiculous. But I said, “I said yes, Raylene. What do you want?” 

“Master, I’m sorry, I lost count. How many strokes do I have to go? Master?” 

I sighed ostentatiously, and said, still facing Lynette, “you’ve got the last six of your dozen to go. And there’s one penalty stroke. So far. So seven. Girl.” 

There was a pause, from Raylene. “Thank you, Master.” Her voice was small. 

Lynette smiled at me. She’d enjoyed our intimacy for its own sake and for its effect on Raylene. We hadn’t been to bed together yet – Lynette was to join Raylene and me at midnight that night – but we were already playing a pleasantly complex three-way sexual game. A subtle threesome.

Lynette pulled my shirt back down and picked up the cane, holding it the middle as Raylene had done, and passed it to me. She mouthed, “Duty calls.” Silently. She was still amused.  

I turned and shook my head at Dorabella, who was at the other side of Rayleme’s desk, holding Raylene’s shoulders down. She’d been watching Lynette and me while we pressed bodies and mouths. Since Dorabella was the only person in the room who didn’t want to fuck Lynette, she was no doubt relieved that Lynette’s interest had switched. Anyway, Dorabella read my look correctly and nodded.

Raylene was to have no warning. I swung the cane, catching Raylene hard across the other stripes I’d already laid on the lower curves of her bottom. 

The crack of cane meeting softly muscled flesh was followed by Raylene’s rising wail. Her legs kicked up, level with her body, and she fought Dorabella desperately to get up. She lost that struggle within a few seconds, and her toes touched the floor again. “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oooohhh…”

I knew I’d have to make the next stroke harder, to get the same reaction. So I made it harder. When Raylene settled her body again, she was still making that soft, almost mumbling cry. It was her pain song.

I gave her the remaining strokes at the same intensity, but she no longer reacted so dramatically. She was getting tired, and she was learning to take a hard caning. There was a kind of acceptance, which was deeper than the mainly verbal submission she’d given me to this moment. I wondered if she’d convinced herself that she deserved to be punished this severely, though she certainly didn’t. 

When the last, penalty, stroke was delivered, I said, “that’s it for now, darling. You’ve been very good, and very brave for me. I’m proud of you, little Raylene.”

She was still producing tears, and singing her “oh fuck oh fuck” song, but she paused for long enough to say, “Thank you, master. And I’m sorry.”  

“Good girl. My girl.” I raised my voice, into public speaking mode. “Raylene is going to thank you for witnessing her punishment. And she’s going to apologise to both of you for her rudeness last night. But she’ll make her formaI apology at dinner tonight. Right now, though, I think I’ve got a girl who needs looking after. Ah?”

It was Dorabella, again, who caught on fastest. She leaned down and kissed her sister’s forehead, then her cheek, and then walked to the door, bustling Lynette out with her. She said, “ok, we’ll leave you two alone for a while. And look in later and see if there’s anything you…”

Lynette said, “Need. Like cold cream?” She wanted to get back into the room. And maybe to get to apply it to Raylene’s glowing ass and thighs. 

Raylene stopped singing “oh fuck oh fuck” and said, “I’ve got some. In a drawer. We’re fine.” She looked at me. I nodded.

“We’ll see you guys later.” I shut the door. I considered jamming a chair against the handle, in case Lynette thought of another way to get inside. The thought made me smile. I knew Raylene wanted to fuck Lynette as much as I did, and if Lynette was getting keen, and devious, that was no bad omen.

I took the cold cream from her top drawer, where it nestled against knickers and a small collection of vibes, I helped her rise, though she moaned when she straightened up. “That hurt, master. Oh fuck, that hurt so much.”

It wasn’t an accusation. And we kissed. I grinned at her. She looked puzzled, but she couldn’t see how bedraggled and woeful, and how triumphantly sexy, she looked. Oh well: I had plenty of time to tell her.

“Girl. Lovely brave girl. Mine.”

“Yes, master.”

“Bed.”

Euph off: Bedewed with the pearly tribute of manhood

Letitia climbed onto the Royal Yacht, a glass of champagne in one white-gloved hand. It was a splendid occasion, and the rear admirals and all of royalty had turned out: Elizabeth the Virgin Queen, Elizabeth the less virginal Queen, and Boadicea.

Such respectable society, thought Letitia, popping a cocktail sausage between her lips. She noticed a dashing young Highland Guardsman, resplendent in his kilt, with just a hint of dirk showing in his hose. He was gazing at her with the puppyish eyes of love. At least, his feelings were clearly of great intensity.

She smiled at her gallant, and took a plate from one of the tables. “La, sir, may I offer you finger food? Or some other tit bit?”

He seemed overcome, but when she offered a cream pie, he coughed ferociously, face as red as the swollen underparts of a lady baboon in the more friendly part of her cycle. “Nay, madam, it is not food I seek from you, save only the fruit of love, the elixir, as it were, of your lightly forested Paphian grove.”

“Do what? My what?”

“Your dark delta of mystery. But first, madam, I dream of… Nay, I am unworthy.”

A cock between tits

“Sirrah, I’m sure ‘tis not so! How may I make your dream a happy reality?”

“Well, I would like to osculate the tenderest pinkest crowns of your firm, and proud, and, ah…”

“Avast!” cried the First Mate, at that moment.

“… womanly endowments.”

Letitia frowned. “You want what?”

“And ‘twould be an honour, ma’am, to oscillate those cupola’d hills of Cythera. So glorious a manual mammary memory! Mwah!”

“No, I’m still not getting it, sorry.”

The young man cleared his throat, his face still crimson, and tried again. “And interpose between the ripest, melon fruits of your feminine beauty my doughty staff of manhood. Oh god, yes.”

Letitia wished the man would speak English. Scots dialect was very charming, no doubt, but …“Doughty? You can’t mean ‘dirty’? Dotty? And what do you need staff for, anyway?”

“And run, in those bounteous hills of pleasure, the instinctual race of love. Oohhhh!”

“You can’t want to race me?”

“Nay. Madam, I would bedew these most voluptuous slopes with the pearly tribute of my love. Unff!”

“Come again?”

“Unfff!”

“But, cried Letitia, bewildered, “what are you saying?”

The Highland Guardsman’s dream, of doughty shafts and, let’s face it, rather yummy bounteous hills of pleasure

Desperately, he said, “Madam, I want to lick your cunt like an icecream. But first, I want to fondle your tits, which are incredibly hot, and kiss your nipples till they, and you, are wet as a two-child paddling pool. Which, believe me, is fucking wet. And then I want get my cock up in between those tits, and hump you till I come all over them. Perhaps we could get a room?”

The slap was heard in both Shoreditch and Brighton, though as Brighton was 47 miles away the sound did not arrive to puzzle them for another 10 minutes.

The young man’s face was now considerably redder on the right side than the left. He seemed puzzled.

“Why sir,” said Letitia coldly, “I quite fail to understand you.”